OLD FITZWATERS

Thou art his hand, the agent of his thoughts, And only enginor, by which he works Some dangerous plot to blow his Honour up: Is't possible my Son should be from Court So often, and the cause unknown to thee, That art his bosom-friend, his Counseller? My wrath shall find another in thy breast. Know that thou treadest on thy last foot of earth, From whence is no remove, but to the graven: Fly me thou canst not, and to make resistance, Will draw upon thee for one Lyons rage, All the whole den. Offers to kill him. I have put on Dianiras poisoned shirt In the discourse, and every word cleaves to me As deadly in the apprehension, As that which killed the Iew-borne Hercules. But wherefore do I combat with my self, That have a greater enemy to curb? O, but he is my son! What is a son? The effect of a sweet minute, he shall die, Being my pleasure to effect my pleasure: Attend me where he is, I may destroy him. Hold thy desperate hand, Wouldst make our Nuptials prove a Tragedy? Dotes he on my betrothed, my Love, my wife? Had he the lives of many hopeful sons Incorporate with his own, my rate is such I should destroy them all, ere loose my Love. But how does she affect him? I think thy treachery conveyed her hence, And by thy means another was attired In her habilaments to vex me thus. I would right you better, Were I assured of your close tretchery. With no more then I'll perform. No, but in blood Like fire. You have been with the Lord Clynton? Is this the place? Will the Lord Clynton buckler out my foe? Good to deceive me. Forswear him, and I shall rest satisfied. Give way. March forward to the Church. O my distracted soul, this is extreme, Gulled with a Boy, dressed in your Daughters gown: This is a cross that patience cannot bear. If you bellow here, you breath your last; by ways, Back doors, come sir along with me. If that her father meet, as I desire, Whats but a spark, will prove a mount of fire. Lock the door after us. Betrayed to death: why do you hold my Sword? There's greater fury kindled in my breast, Then can be quenched by any thing but blood: I shall turn frantic if you brand the Sea Of my displeasure in such narrow bounds, And with a Deluge, equal to the first, That overspread the world, swell up so high, Till not a Mountain overlook the stream, Nor heaven be seen for Rivers of the Land. Wouldst fight with me? Counsel prevails, I am glad he is not slain. I have a heavier doom, Which on my curse I charge thee to observe: Which is, That instantly thou leave the Land, And trouble me no more to get her love. If that prove so, my heart will be the lighter. Welcome my reverend Lord. Do not you Bishops use sometime to dream? That such another dream I had last night: And if I should be cheated of my Bride, It a strange premonition. Some Pegasus has born her from my sighed For never a horse I keep can overtake them: By all conjectures they are gone to Sea, And Shipped by this. Some whirlwind follow them; And making the Ocean rougher then my brow, Ye dancing Porpoises caper aloft, And mud the white foam with your jetty backs; A perfect sign a tempest is at hand. Rise from the bottom of the deep you Whale's, And overturn the Ship that carries them: But let a Dolphin save my Floramell, And back unto the haven guide her safe. As for the boy, make him your watery pray, Eat him alive, that he may hear his bones Crash in the jaws of the Leviathan: But save his head for me to know him by, Author of all my grief and misery. Let Ravens perch upon these blossomd trees, Night Owls their stations in this Garden keep, And every ominons portence draw near: For here I'll offer unto Hecare, A hellish sacrifice in a sons blood. That Steward is a Villain. To the water side; Lord Bishop keep the boy. There lie my gage I dare thee to the field, And will aver without the advice of sleep, That thou Wertenberg privy to the Stewards blot. Which weel soon beats down. They were swift indeed. Did you ere see a better Tournament, Or braver Runners then this day appeared In the Tiltyard? Here they come all. We have my Liege, & the most youthful blood That the Court yields will show their Chiualdry, In honour of Bavaria's Royal Duke. So will Fitzwaters gracious sovereign. And though this day look black with my disgrace, Your Royal presence whites and Aethyops face. Those with our selves, we humbly do present unto your Majesty. Whom do I fee? my Son that stole my Bride? As you respect my service (gracious King) Let me have Justice. Wrong thee? Rise, rise, I am friends with you both, and When my Anger's over you shall find me a kind Father.